But where their spoils and trophies? where

The glorious dint a martyr's shield should bear?
How chance no cheek among them wears
The deep-worn trace of penitential tears,
But all is bright and smiling love,

As if, fresh-born from Eden's happy grove,
They had flown here, their King to see,
Nor ever had been heirs of dark mortality?

Ask, and some angel will reply,

"These, like yourselves, were born to sin and die,

But ere the poison root was grown,

God set his seal, and marked them for His own;

Baptized in blood for Jesus' sake,

Now underneath the cross their bed they make,

Not to be scared from that sure rest

By frightened mother's shriek, or warrior's waving crest."

Mindful of these, the first-fruits sweet

Borne by the suffering Church her Lord to greet;

Blessed Jesus ever loved to trace

The "innocent brightness" of an infant's face.

He raised them in His holy arms,

He blessed them from the world and all its harms:

Heirs though they were of sin and shame,

He blessed them in His own and in His Father's name.

Then as each fond unconscious child

On the everlasting Parent sweetly smiled,

(Like infants sporting on the shore,

That tremble not at Ocean's boundless roar,)

Were they not present to Thy thought,

All souls, that in their cradles Thou hast bought?

But chiefly these, who died for Thee,

That Thou mightest live for them a sadder death to see.

And next to these, Thy gracious word
Was as a pledge of benediction, stored
For Christian mothers, while they moan

Their treasured hopes, just born, baptized and gone.

Oh, joy for Rachel's broken heart!

She and her babes shall meet no more to part;

So dear to Christ her pious haste

To trust them in His arms, for ever safe embraced.

She dares not grudge to leave them there,

Where to behold them was her heart's first prayer;
She dares not grieve—but she must weep,

As her pale placid martyr sinks to sleep,

Teaching so well and silently

How, at the shepherd's call, the lamb should die :
How happier far than life the end

Of souls that infant-like beneath their burthen bend.

John Kebie.

THAT rage whereof the psalm doth say,
Why are the Gentiles grown so mad?
Appeared in part upon that day,

When Herod slain the infants had;
Yet, as it saith, they stormed in vain;
(Though many innocents they slew,)
For, Christ they purposed to have slain,
Who all their counsels overthrew.

Thus still vouchsafe Thou to restrain
All tyrants, Lord, pursuing Thee;
Thus let our vast desires be slain,

That Thou mayest living in us be:
So whilst we shall enjoy our breath,
We of Thy love our songs will frame;
And with those innocents, our death
Shall glorify Thy name.

In

type those many died for one;

That One for many more was slain;

And what they felt in act alone,

He did in will and act sustain.

Lord grant, that what Thou hast decreed
In will and act we may fulfil;
And though we reach not to the deed,
From us, O God, accept the will.

George Wither.

Oh WEEP not o'er thy children's tomb!
O Rachel, weep not so;

The bud is cropt by martyrdom,
The flower in heaven shall blow!

Firstlings of faith! the murderer's knife Has missed its deadliest aim:

The God for whom they gave their life, For them to suffer came!

Though evil were their days and few,
Baptized in blood and pain,

He knows them, whom they never knew,
And they shall live again.

Oh weep not o'er thy children's tomb;
O Rachel, weep not so!

The bud is cropt by martyrdom,

The flower in heaven shall blow..

Reginald Heber.

THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT.

"Tis noon, the sun is in the sky;

And from his broad and burning ray
To groves and glens the shepherds fly,
Where welcome shade excludes the day;

Or rest where sparkling waters play,
Like fairy streams of liquid gold,-
Such as mysterious legends say,

Around the fire-king's palace rolled.

Behold yon scattered group recline,

Beneath a tall oak's ample shade;

A form of manly port benign,

And one who seems the loveliest maid,